But a castle does not make nearly so interesting and
impressive a ruin as an abbey, because the latter was built for beauty,
and on a plan in which deep thought and feeling were involved; and having
once been a grand and beautiful work, it continues grand and beautiful
through all the successive stages of its decay. But a castle is rudely
piled together for strength and other material conveniences; and, having
served these ends, it has nothing left to fall back upon, but crumbles
into shapeless masses, which are often as little picturesque as a pile of
bricks. Without the ivy and the shrubbery, this huge Kenilworth would
not be a pleasant object, except for one or two window-frames, with
broken tracery, in the Banqueting-Hall. . . . .
We stayed from eleven till two, and identified the various parts of the
castle as well as we could by the guide-book. The ruins are very
extensive, though less so than I should have imagined, considering that
seven acres were included within the castle wall. But a large part of
the structures have been taken away to build houses in Kenilworth village
and elsewhere, and much, too, to make roads with, and a good deal lies
under the green turf in the court-yards, inner and outer.
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